


Hide your fires; these here are my desires

by whoistorule



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoistorule/pseuds/whoistorule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If one wants to be good at anything, it's always a good idea to practice.  </p><p>Pre-canon Theon/Robb fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hide your fires; these here are my desires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dalyeau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalyeau/gifts), [mockyrfears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockyrfears/gifts).



In his wildest dreams, Theon never dared hope the heir to Winterfell would share his bed, and yet here he lay, his head pressed against the ridges of Theon’s taut stomach, his body sprawled against the mattress as if it was his bed, and not Theon’s at all. Robb’s hair tickles his bare belly, and Theon has to stop himself from twining his fingers through it, from stroking it the way a proper lover would. 

“Do you think I ought to kiss some girls?  Just to see if it’s different?”

Theon’s heart drops, and his words clot in his throat.  Robb is his, his brother, his lord someday, and maybe more, too, and he won’t let some stupid woman get between them before he can figure out if it’s his  _more_  to want.  “That sounds pretty stupid to me,” Theon manages through his fear, “I mean, you don’t want to lead them on, end up with a Jon Snow situation on your hands.”

Robb’s face scrunched up in thought as he turned onto his stomach, resting his chin in the cleft of Theon’s muscles.  Suddenly Theon was grateful that it was the bed Robb lay on, and not Theon’s body, or else he might find himself in need of explanations, and quickly.  “I suppose it  _would_  be dishonorable.”

Nudging Robb off of him, Theon laughs, pulling his legs up the bed.  “Who cares about dishonor?  Snow is a boring, stuck up, know it all, stick in the mud, that’s what I meant.  I know I wouldn’t want a bastard like that.” 

Robb frowns, sitting.  He’s smaller than Theon, still, but Theon knows it will only be a few years before he’s that towering Stark height, scruff blooming on his chin, muscles rippling across his stomach.  Even now, at just past 14, Robb’s got the makings of a man, like a rough sketch against his skinny bones, ready to bloom into full color.  “His life is different than ours, you don’t have to make it more difficult than it already is.” 

“But that’s what makes it so fun!”  Theon’s grin splits his face, easy and familiar. 

“Theon...” 

“Oh, want me to shut up, do you?  Well you know the best way to do that...”

When Robb grabs Theon’s hair, it’s possessive, and it makes Theon’s heart thump in his chest.  His lips are soft against Theon’s, but chapped still from their earlier bout.  Their noses bump as Theon’s mouth opens beneath Robb’s, his head sinking against the pillows.  He may talk big, he may be older and more learned, more experienced, but when it comes to Robb Stark, he can’t help but fall to his knees -- figuratively of course. 

Robb’s teeth scrape across Theon’s lower lip, nipping at him with a grin that’s downright  _wolfish_  and Theon shudders.  “Where’d you learn that?  I never taught you that!” 

“I don’t know,” Robb shrugged, rolling off Theon to lay beside him, his aurburn curls knocking softly against Theon’s cheek.  “It just felt right.”

\--

It started quietly.  The flicker of candle flame beyond the threshold of his chamber door; just a sliver of light and then a quiet creak.  Theon hoisted himself against his headboard, chest bare in the mild night.

"Theon?" Robb whispered, "you awake?"

Theon smiled lazily, gesturing for Robb to close the door behind him, then patted the bed beside him.  Eagerly, Robb did as he suggested; the door kissing the frame quietly as Robb placed his candle beside the bed, his bony hips nudging Theon over as he claimed a space on Theon's bed.

Silently, Theon's heart raced.  Robb was all that he should have been and would never be.  Heir to a great seat, beloved and yet cold, with iron strength and deft swiftness Theon's own father would be proud of.  Theon should hate him for it, and yet how could he when it was Robb alone who saw his worth?  Who saw his greatness?  The younger boy looked up to him, and Theon found he craved it; the devotion, the attention, the shared jokes and smiles, it fostered a brotherhood he was denied, would have been denied even if Rodrik and Maron had lived.  (Even if Lord Eddard Stark had not killed them in his father's rebellion.)

There was more of Robb that Theon wanted, more than he could have.  It was that which Theon plotted to plunder on the long Winterfell nights.  Not the wealth of the North, the iron and copper, the rich forests and cold history, but the rather the luster of Robb Stark's lips, the red gold of his curls, the knife sharp of his jaw.

The quiet stretched out between them and Theon shivered, his arm brushing against Robb's.  He wasn't sure what brought the younger boy to his bed, but he knew he didn't want to break the spell. 

"Theon," Robb began, and Theon felt his breath catch sharply in his chest.  "Did you mean what you said today in the stables?  To one of Mikken's boys?"

The stables, what had Theon said?  His faces wrinkled in thought, and then he remembered.  He'd been joking with the smith's apprentice, a burly youth with little of Mikken's skill, good for little other than horseshoes and nails, that Stark and Snow both were far to green in the sack to get their proper pleasure, bragging about his own exploits with the wife of a miller who lived not half a day's ride from Winterfell. 

Theon found himself grateful, suddenly, that the darkness masked the flush of his cheeks.  He hadn't known Robb had heard him, and faced with that truth he felt suddenly sheepish.  "Those were japes," Theon said, "aimed more at Snow than you--"

"But it's true, isn't it?  I've never even kissed a woman, and you've done all sorts of things."

Theon shrugged.  "So kiss someone.  Kiss Jeyne Poole.  She practically swoons every time you walk into a room."

He glanced sidelong to see the barely perceptible shake of Robb's head.  "She'd tell Sansa." He was quiet a minute, his breath rising and falling in the darkness.  "Besides, what if I'm no good at it?"

Theon laughed.  Robb Stark? Be bad at anything?  That day would surely never come.  "Don't pull my leg, Stark, you're good at everything."

"Because I practice!"

"What are you saying?  That you want to practice kissing?"

Now it was Robb's turn to flush.  Theon could see the hint of it in the candle flame, bright as his hair.  "Well... Yes.  Come on Theon, who better to teach me than you?"

Anticipation coiled low in Theon’s belly.  “All right.”  Robb’s offer had dried his mouth and he swallowed once, and again.  “Yes.  I’ll teach you.”  Theon’s confidence flared up quickly, a thin gilt veneer over the nerves that quaked under his skin.  “But we tell no one, got it?”

Robb nodded eagerly.  “Right.  Just us.  Our secret.” 

“Good.” 

Slowly, Robb turned to look at Theon, sitting up on his knees.  The flickering flame lights Robb’s bright eyes like a lantern, and despite the power he had, the knowledge, the experience, Theon felt naked under the weight of Robb’s gaze.  An awkward laugh burst through his lips, coupled by one of Robb’s own.

“So teach me,” Robb commanded, “What do I do?”

Theon reached out, his hand cupping Robb’s cheek softly, possessively.  His eyes met Robb’s and for a moment everything was still.  What was Theon to do?  Should he kiss Robb first, or wait and see?  A part of him worried that this was some cruel jest of Robb’s own, payback for Theon’s comments that morning in the stables, or else Robb would realize this wasn’t what he wanted and actually go find fucking  _Jeyne Poole_ and kiss her instead.  He was a fool to let this go on, to dare think he might get what he wanted--

And then Robb’s lips crashed against his own, dry and desperate, but wanting.  Theon had meant to offer some advice, to pause Robb, to tell him  _slower_  and  _a little more like this_  and  _part your lips now,_  but once Robb began, Theon found himself incapable of stopping.  His hand which had so softly brushed the flushing line of Robb’s jaw slid now to his curls, twisting in them as Robb’s lips opened above him, his tongue pushing desperately into Theon’s mouth.

Theon’s back hit the bed with a slam, and the gust blew the flickering candle out, but even in the darkness Theon could feel the lines of Robb’s smile against his own.  Robb’s kiss was unpracticed, all rough teeth and sloppy tongue, but it was eager, and it was Theon’s to enjoy.  His heart was racing as he pulled Robb’s head closer to his own, and every time Robb groped at his neck Theon felt it burn like wildfire, felt his blood rush to that spot, felt himself grow stronger under the magnetism of Robb’s attention. 

They could have kissed for ten seconds or ten years, and Theon wouldn’t have known which.  When Robb finally comes up, gasping for air, he wipes his lips on the back of his palm, and pulls himself up, his own breath ragged and weak.

“So how’d I do?” Robb asked, sliding off the edge of the bed with a demanding stare. 

“You need some practice, but I think I can work with you,” Theon found himself saying, an easy grin coming to his face, cocky, yet genuine.  He’s never felt so flushed, so pleased, so  _warm_  in Winterfell before.  “Come back tomorrow night.  Then we can really begin.” 

\--

It was a slow burn at first.  One night in a fortnight, and then in ten, then a week, until it seemed that Robb couldn’t go two nights without darkening his doorway with a bright grin and sleep mussed hair.  Kissing lessons became practice, but soon Theon couldn’t tell which of them was the teacher and which the student.  It was just kissing.  Hours upon hours of kissing, until their lips were chapped, and tiny bruises bloomed like purple secrets under their clothes.

Theon didn’t know when it was that Robb began to stay long after their lips had dried and their heartbeats had stayed, only that he’s grown used to the feeling of Winterfell’s heir curling up around him, his cheek pressing against Theon’s chest, his body warm even as summer snow falls soft around the castle, filling the air with soft white powder.  It’s the type that melts come dawn’s bright sun and morning’s heat, but at night coats the keep like a blanket, making the castle look like spun sugar in the starlight.

“I wish I didn’t have to go back to my chambers,” Robb murmurs, “I wish I could stay with you all night.  It should be my right to do so, if I wish.”

Theon aches with how much he wants it, and yet he finds himself shaking his head.  

“Someday, maybe, but not tonight.  Tomorrow we rise early.”

“Right,” Robb leans his head up, pressing a lazy kiss to Theon’s jaw that makes him shiver, makes his heart thump just a bit faster.  “Father beheads a Night’s Watch deserter tomorrow.  I think he means to bring Bran with us.”

“Bran’s old enough.  I was near Bran’s age when my brothers died.” 

Robb sits, peering at Theon imperceptibly, and Theon finds himself wondering what Robb’s thinking, whether he should have mentioned his brothers at all, but then before he can laugh it off, Robb’s curled around him again, and Theon can feel the beginnings of a beard scraping against his shoulder.  “I’m your brother now,” Robb says, his arm twining possessively across Theon, holding him close.  “Now and always.” 

_Now and always._


End file.
